Life is Funny
by eleanorc
Summary: One-shot holiday story. Just a bit of Christmas fluff for our OTP.


Edith struggled with her bags, resenting the purchases for about the hundredth time that day. And what a wreck of a day it had been too. First the unexpected calf-deep snow which started her morning off in a panic, then her bus had broken down, she left her tablet in the cab she had hired, work was chaotic, she'd left early to finish the obligatory gift buying, and now she found herself wading through snow in the courtyard outside her building, goods on the verge of bursting from her arms.

And then they did.

"Blast this bloody awful cold holiday," Edith growled, bending to gather the things she had dropped. But as she picked up the red scarf she had purchased for her mother, she lost her balance on the slick walk and ended up on her back in the snow, leg bent beneath her and ankle throbbing.

And so she cried. In that moment the ghosts of Christmases past, present, and future all collaborated with the universe to remind Edith that it was the holidays, and therefore she was destined to be miserable. It was a childish impulse, laying in the snow and slush and cold and just crying up at the night sky, but she indulged anyway.

"Are you alright?" came a tentative voice from somewhere behind her.

Edith groaned. Because of course she wouldn't be allowed to have a complete meltdown in private. Not when she was sprawled like a mad woman in the middle of the courtyard. Craning her neck, she looked up to find Mr. Strallan looking worried. Because of course it would be Mr. Strallan who found her and not someone she was less infatuated with.

Even upside down and clouded by falling snow his visage turned her bones all gummy.

"I fell," Edith said dumbly. When Mr. Strallan only cocked his head at the obvious, she went on to explain, "And it seemed to be the culminating sign from the powers that be that I should give up on life in general."

"So you're just going to lie out here in the wet, frigid night until the earth swallows you up?" he asked, his voice only gently teasing.

Edith shrugged. "I hadn't really gotten that far yet," she admitted, feeling absurdly foolish.

Mr. Strallan took a few steps toward her, and Edith thought he was going to force her off the ground and up to her fourth-floor flat. It would be a feat with her surely sprained ankle, but he was a polite man and painfully courteous so he would no doubt assist. He must be the only building manager in all of London who would help carry groceries and deliver packages and change light bulbs his tenants couldn't reach. He was a dear. Edith had been fond of him from the start.

Instead of lifting her up, Mr. Strallan slowly and deliberately sat in the snow beside Edith, then laid back so that his shoulders were lined up with hers and his gaze also went to the sky.

Edith looked at him sideways, touched by the gesture and thrilled deep down at the proximity. Lying beside him as he stared up at the falling snow, she could fully examine his long lashes, the curve of his nose, his thin lips, the white hair at his temples that showed his age, whatever it was.

Then she shivered and look up again.

They sat in silence for a good while, and Edith felt the wet seeping through her wool coat. She felt guilty for doubtless getting him soaked as well, but couldn't bring herself to leave his side. Nine months they had known each other, always cordial and shy and pleasant. He wore a wedding ring, but Edith had never once seen anyone else go in or out of his own flat. Mr. Strallan kept to himself mostly, but he was reliable and patient with the tenants.

He interrupted her thoughts. "Might I ask what's gone so wrong that you fell and decided life just wasn't worth getting up for again?"

"I don't think it's any one thing, Mr. Strallan. And I'm just having a bit of a hissy fit. I'll get over it and drag myself through this blasted holiday, and come the New Year everything will be fine, I'm sure."

The man sighed, his breath escaping him in a white puff. He clasped his hands over his stomach, a gesture wholly comfortable considering they were both probably catching pneumonia that very moment.

"I always find this time of year a bit… pressured," he said. "So much is expected in terms of togetherness and this sense of 'peace and tranquility among all mankind', but if you're remotely lonely or unhappy, it can be hard. Then, if you're anything less than enthusiastic about the whole endeavor you're pegged a 'Scrooge' and told to lighten up."

"The more they try to force the Christmas Spirit on you the harder it is to keep from burning a Christmas tree in protest," Edith agreed. They both huffed a laugh then.

After a moment, Mr. Strallan rolled his head closer to Edith's, still not looking at her. "Then again, miserable and stressful and chaotic as it may be, it's hard not to feel at least a tiny glimmer of hope this time of year, isn't it? Because if nothing else it marks the end of one thing and the beginning of another. Even if everything is awful, you get to begin again and hope next year will be better. Don't you think?"

He finally looked at Edith, his eyes alarmingly bright and knowing and full of wisdom and patience. She nodded weakly, unable to disagree with him. Because she _was_ feeling a small flicker of something now, deep in the well of her chest, warm and buoyant and eager.

"What would you say to getting out of the snow, into the warm, for a cup of tea?" he asked gently.

Edith nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Strallan."

"I think you might call me Anthony," he suggested, standing first to offer Edith his hand.

He pulled her to her feet, but when Edith tried to put weight on her twisted ankle it gave out, pitching her forward into Anthony's chest.

"Oh, poor dear," Anthony muttered. "Hang on," he told her, managing to gather all her bags and things in one arm before wrapping the other around her waist for support.

"I'll be alright, really, you needn't," Edith tried, but Anthony was already guiding her to the building, practically carrying her pressed against his side.

Once through the double doors, Edith expected him to turn for the stairs, but he didn't. Turning to the immediate left, he pushed open the door to his own flat and led them in.

Warm, Edith noted first, not in temperature but in feel. Crowded, perhaps, with books and shelves and antique things like a chess table near the fire and a large globe in the corner. It was much larger than her own little attic studio, with rich wood finishes and marble floors in the entry. What appeared to be a library or study was to the right, and a formal dining room was at the left, though it seemed to collect Anthony's folded laundry and morning papers more than anything.

"This is lovely," Edith said absently, still trying to take it all in. "And massive. My whole studio could fit in your entry."

Anthony chuckled a bit, dropping Edith's things near the door and guiding her into the study. He placed her in a large, worn wingback chair near the fire, which was crackling happily. The chair, she couldn't help but notice, was the perfect size for curling up with a book.

"It's home I guess," he muttered, peeling Edith's coat from her before kneeling at her feet. "You're soaked through," he admonished. "And your ankle is good and swollen. Does this hurt?" He pressed at a few places, and Edith shook her head. "It's not broken, just sprained. I'll be right back."

Edith turned, taking in the whole of the room. In the corner was a pretty little tree, lit with colored lights and decorated with old-fashioned ornaments. It was sweet and sentimental, all mix-matched with a fair number, she could tell, of homemade trimmings.

"Here we are," Anthony said, coming from the hall with a tea tray, an ice pack, and a bandage. He fixed Edith a mug of tea before kneeling before her again to treat her ankle.

"You've done that before," Edith observed, trying not to focus too much on the feel of his warm hands on her foot and calf, or the fact that it was the most she'd been touched by a man since her Oxford days.

"Yes, well, it's been a few years admittedly," Anthony said, securing the bandage with a clip and taking up the seat across from her. At her quizzical stare, Anthony ceded. "I was a doctor, once. A long time ago."

Suddenly her kindly building manager seemed much more of an enigma, and Edith found herself burning with questions. She couldn't help it when her eyes wandered the titles of his books, and then the few pictures on his mantle, and then finally the gold band on his left hand.

"Why aren't you a doctor anymore?" she asked. He smiled sadly, and Edith suddenly felt immensely intrusive. "I'm sorry, you needn't say."

"I don't mind," he replied quickly. "Only there isn't really a definitive answer. I was a doctor with a wife and a son and then I wasn't." He raised and dropped one shoulder as if discussing a football match. Then, as Edith opened her mouth to respond, he said "But I want to know _your_ story, Miss Crawley."

Edith took another sip of tea. "I'm rather the outcast of the family, and that's never more obvious than the holidays when my sisters show up with their children and their husbands and I arrive empty-handed save the gifts I'm obligated to bring. It's nothing specific, just that there is zero empathy between my family and myself, and I never feel more alone than sitting at a table surrounded by people who love me and have absolutely no idea who I am."

"I would rather be with one person who appreciates me than a roomful of those who don't," Anthony agreed. "I am sorry. I'd always pictured you as the sort to spend Christmas with a select few, or even a good book and a bottle of wine, rather than a hoard of relatives."

Edith smiled. "I certainly would prefer it. I think I'm reaching a point in my life where trying to keep up appearances simply isn't worth it any longer. If doing the family thing makes neither myself nor my family happy, than perhaps it's time to throw in the towel."

"Shame," Anthony sighed, refilling his mug and topping off Edith's.

"What is?"

"Well, frankly Miss Crawley, I can't imagine anyone not being fascinated by you. If your family can't appreciate it, it is their loss. Surely someone will stumble into your life who makes you feel complete rather than inadequate. Because you shouldn't be made to feel inadequate under any circumstances."

Anthony was looking at the fire, and Edith was grateful because she blushed deeply despite herself. Calming her heart and steadying her breath she said into her mug, "You might call me Edith."

Anthony smiled, a crooked grin that was a bit more than his usual shy smirk. Edith smiled too, brown eyes meeting blue, and a shiver ran through her.

"Poor thing, you must be frozen," Anthony said suddenly. Before Edith had time to protest he was pulling a flannel blanket from a basket near the hearth and throwing it over her shoulders, then scooting her chair closer to the fire.

"Anthony, really, you've done more than enough. I'm quite…" Edith said, placing a hand against his wrist to still his movements. But when he stopped his face was so close, his hands on either arm of the chair. His skin was warm beneath her fingertips and his eyes so bright. She watched them as they traveled to her lips, and found herself leaning up ever so slightly. And then he was back in his seat a safe distance away, and both of them were stuttering apologies.

For months Edith had greeted Anthony in passing, stopping at the postboxes to chat about whatever little thing—her work as a teacher or a book he thought she might like—and for months the conversations had grown longer and the smiles wider and the longing deeper. But Edith had never thought anything of it. Oh she had _hoped_, certainly, and she had daydreamed, but she hadn't allowed herself the excitement of thinking seriously of Anthony Strallan, because she hadn't wanted the disappointment.

Now, though, in his private home, surrounded by his things, she began to envision a future, allowed some of her walls to come down. And what a feeling that was, to relax just a little and enjoy someone without fear of judgment or loss or indignation.

"You're wonderful," Edith blurted suddenly, utterly by accident. She felt her face burn with embarrassment and burrowed further into the blanket in hopes of hiding from his inevitable discomfort.

But he smiled, blushed himself, and said nothing.

He had always had this effect on her, hadn't he? The realization struck her, caught her off guard. She had always gone a bit daft in his presence, her lungs always seized up a little. How had she gone so long without knowing she was mad about the man? Even practical strangers that they were.

"It's a lovely tree," Edith said, if only to coax him into talking more. "I'm afraid I've never put in the effort, knowing I'd be the only one that sees it."

Anthony smiled fondly at the thing, then looked down at his tea, running a finger around the rim of his mug. "My boy, Daniel, he was always excited about the whole thing. Kids are, you know, Father Christmas and such. It's silly to put it up, I know, but I think I'd feel a bit guilty if I didn't."

"What happened?" Edith asked. She then felt compelled to add, "Please."

"Car accident. Maude and I were splitting custody at the time, divorce was getting nasty, and she wanted to switch weekends with me so she could go to the coast with her beau. I refused, petty really. So she brought my boy with them, and they were hit by another car. That was that."

"Oh Anthony," Edith sighed.

"Logically I understand I wasn't driving, nor could I control the circumstances," he said, sounding very much like a doctor. Then he slumped, just slightly, just enough to look miserable, and weighed down. "But, but I can't help but think if I hadn't been making a point to Maude my boy would be here now, shaking all his gifts under the tree and driving me insane."

"How old was he?"

"Nine at the time. He would have been sixteen now."

"I'm sorry," Edith said again. "Here I am whining about my huge family and you've lost yours. It's awful. I can be incredibly dense." She felt guilty, and sad for the dear man across from her.

"Please don't say that. You're bright, and compassionate… and you're wonderful too." Edith felt tears brimming over, and the urge to cry only got stronger when she saw the wetness at Anthony's eyes. He chuckled suddenly and shook his head. "Well we make quite the pair. Care for something a touch stronger than tea?"

"Please," Edith heaved, handing him her mug and settling closer to the fire. She really was chilled. And no wonder, wearing a wet navy blouse and gray trousers and little else. He had hung her coat near the hearth to dry, and placed her gray booties beside it. They were suede and likely ruined anyway, and then Edith realized she was worried about her silly suede shoes while she was probably in the process of falling in love with Anthony Strallan.

Life was funny, a strange and unpredictable thing.

"Brandy alright? The only other thing I've got is some painfully cheap vodka I took off the kids in 4C," Anthony rambled, returning with a bottle and two brandy glasses.

Before Edith knew what she was doing she had stood, the blanket falling away, and lunged at Anthony. In her haste she had completely forgotten about her ankle and ended up falling into him, catching herself around his neck. He dropped the glasses and brandy by instinct to catch her, and the last thing Edith heard before kissing him was glass shattering at her feet.

It wasn't the most graceful of first kisses. Hard and dry and a bit overzealous, it ended as quickly as it began, and Anthony hadn't responded in the least.

"Oh my god, I don't know what's wrong with me," Edith began. The horror of the last ten seconds catching up with her all at once. "I, I never do this kind of thing. You must think, oh god, Anthony. And I broke your glasses!"

She was in a right panic now, wondering how quickly her ankle would allow her to flee up to her flat. Being a fourth-floor walkup had never bothered her much before, even with an armful of groceries or books or what have you. Now it seemed an eternal trek.

Anthony's arms were still gripping her, and Edith was rambling apologies as she tried to wiggle free. His expression was unreadable, lips parted in apparent shock.

"Just, I'll just get my things. I'm so, so sor—" Edith tried.

Then she was swept off her feet, quite literally.

At her gasp of shock, Anthony finally smiled, faint though it was. "Can't have you cutting your feet now, can we?" he asked softly. He seemed to still be sorting out the sudden change—how Edith had gone from sipping tea in front of his fire to being in his arms, pressed tightly against him.

"Anthony," Edith whispered, hoping to spur him into a decision one way or another. Then he fixed his eyes on hers, and she wondered if he hadn't made said decision even before venturing out into the courtyard to fetch her.

"That ankle, it looks a bit swollen still," he muttered. "I think perhaps we better get the ice from it, get it, get it elevated." His gaze had traveled down to her lips. Edith noticed despite being nearly overwhelmed by his shoulders beneath her hands and his chest pressed to her side and the proximity of their faces.

"Yes, yes elevated. You know best," she managed.

The hallway that led from the entry to the rear of the flat was dark, but Edith noted the photos that hung on the walls of a young boy with Anthony's build. They passed a kitchen that had one too many takeout containers, a few closed doors, an office, and finally they were in Anthony's room.

He paused at the door, as if giving Edith time to renege her permission. The room was masculine—plaid gray sheets and a navy duvet, heavy furniture, books and shirts strewn about. And it smelled a bit like him, like paper and cologne.

"I, I would have cleaned," he tried.

"It's wonderful," Edith said, wondering if her vocabulary had really diminished so in his presence. "I always wondered what your house would look like."

"Really?" he asked, sounding immensely relieved as he finally moved to place her on the bed.

Edith's mind was racing. What, exactly, had she agreed to? It frightened her to realize and accept in all of thirty seconds that she would gladly do anything Anthony wanted, despite being wildly nervous and lacking in experience. Like any young woman in such a spot, she immediately addressed her underwear situation and thanked the powers that be that she had chosen a simple but matching set of knickers and bra that were miraculously new and not remotely granny-esque.

How long ago had she cursed the universe for being so ruthless? Life is funny, Edith thought for the second time that night.

Anthony, oblivious to Edith's internal rambling, sat at her feet, taking them into his lap. He removed the bandage with slow, precise movements, and Edith thought it might be the most ridiculously erotic thing she had even experienced. With the icepack and the wrap discarded to the floor, he frowned, running a hand over the bruising with feather-light pressure.

"Well, Crawley, I think you'll live," he muttered, his voice low and soft.

He bent and placed a kiss against the top of her foot, just one little peck. And that was all it took, Edith was done in, completely his whether he had asked or not.

Anthony seemed afraid to look back to her, even as she was sprawled across his own bed. He reached beside her and she thought he might kiss her, but he just took one of the pillows to prop beneath her calf. "What, what would you say to a spot of supper?"

"I'm starved," she agreed, somehow relieved that his request wasn't more serious.

They beamed at each other like idiots for a moment. "I have a wide selection of lovely takeout leftovers," he offered. "I could see what sort of international smorgasbord I can come with. Or, if you prefer the safe option, I could run to the curry place across the street."

"Smorgasbord, I think. Why not?" she answered.

Anthony patted her knee. "Back in a jiff."

The poor man wasn't kidding about the wide selection of cuisine. But he obviously put a great deal of effort into their dinner. Ravioli in pesto sauce, phad thai, some beef medallions with roast potatoes, some garlic broccoli with steamed rice, and several pork tamales were all arranged on a tray, with a bottle of red, and two glasses of water.

"I am sorry, this was the best of it. I'll go anywhere you like," Anthony stammered, placing the tray between them and sitting against the headboard on the opposite side of the bed.

"Anthony, it's perfect," Edith assured. Then, helping herself to some thai noodles, she said, "You know, I cook a lot, but it's hard doing it for just one. I end up with a lot of leftovers. I could, I could cook for you. Real meals, then you would have lunches too."

Why that offer made her so nervous she couldn't quite say, but she felt awash with relief when he turned to her and said, "I would like that very, very much."

Another blushing silence passed and then Anthony asked, "So tell me more about this wretched, loud family of yours."

With a laugh Edith began the rundown of who was who, and between bites told him of her childhood in a cavernous, lonely house, of her father and mother who bonded with Mary and Sybil respectively, of her unrequited childhood love of Cousin Patrick, and her favorite hiding places on the largely abandoned third floor.

Anthony too told Edith of growing up an only child, of his father's ambition and his mother's fragility. He spoke just a little about Maude and their marriage, and a great deal about Daniel. He told Edith of his practice, of how his identity had lied in being a surgeon, and how futile it all seemed when he lost his boy. He also confessed, though she had had her suspicions, that he wasn't the building manager but the owner, and he had taken over the manager's apartment when he could no longer handle the memories at his home.

"Oh, how did that happen?" Edith suddenly wondered aloud, looking at the digital clock on Anthony's nightstand. It was after three in the morning. And through a gap in the drapes Edith could tell the snow had only gotten heavier. Their meal had long since been banished to the floor, a habit of Anthony's it would seem, and at one point they had pulled the covers over them to escape the cold.

Edith now found herself lying on her side, in Anthony Strallan's bed, so close to him she could feel the heat radiating between their bodies. It seemed so very familiar, and even though she kept telling herself she was crazy and this whole night was one mad mistake, she couldn't help but feel entirely at ease.

"Are you very tired?" Anthony asked, and Edith wasn't sure what answer he would like best. But they had never been anything but honest, even in the months of small talk that led up to this moment.

"I am, but I wish I wasn't."

"Would you like to stay?"

Edith nodded before tentatively inching a bit closer to him. Anthony reached to turn off the lamp before his arms came around her, her head settled on his shoulder.

"Edith?" he asked, and she felt his lips against her forehead.

"Hmm?"

"Might I," he whispered, cleared his throat softly, and tried again. "Might I kiss you?"

"I was hoping," she muttered, feeling very much like a school girl at her first coed party.

But Anthony didn't kiss like a boy.

In contrast with Edith's near-assault earlier, Anthony's lips brushed first her eyelashes, and then her cheek, her nose, and finally her lips. He tasted her slowly, top lip and then bottom, and when she sighed he cupped her jaw and let his tongue just breach the seam of her lips to taste there too.

He pulled back, all too soon for Edith's liking. She was about to say so when he leaned in again.

The taste of him, the feel of his stubble and his chest beneath her hands, oh it all went straight to the core of her. Edith fought valiantly for control, and nearly won, but then her hips rolled once against his where they were nearly pressed together.

Anthony pulled back, tilting his body to proffer a small amount of space between them. His eyes were brighter than ever in the dark. As he stared at her, Edith wondered if she had ruined everything, if he thought her a terribly wanton person, stumbling into bed with a man like this.

"How long have we known each other?" Anthony asked suddenly.

Edith swallowed, trying to clear her head. "Um, I moved in about nine months ago."

"Do you scare easily?"

Edith frowned. "N-no, I don't think so. Why?"

"Are you particularly spiritual or religious?"

"Not remotely, much to the chagrin of my mother."

"I don't believe in fate or anything, or I didn't before you," Anthony said quickly. Before Edith could respond he asked, "What are you doing tomorrow?"

"I have to drive back to my parents' tomorrow, for the holiday. They live near Ripon." Edith could practically see the wheels turning in Anthony's head, and he was still fairly wrapped around her. Edith hid her face in the folds of his sweater before asking, "I don't suppose you would care to come with me?"

"Come with you?"

"To my parents?" She felt her face start to burn preemptively from his rejection. "Just, as, as a friend," she added. "No pressure. I just thought, if you were going to be alone for, for Christmas…"

"No," Anthony said softly.

Edith nodded. "No."

"No I won't go with you as a friend. I don't think I could manage it."

"I understand," she tried, feeling absurd for the tears that threatened.

"Edith," he whispered.

"No, really. It was a, a brash invitation. It's fine."

"Edith."

"Anthony?"

He coaxed her face away from his shoulder, his hand at her jaw forcing her to look up at him. "I would go as your husband."

"As my what?" she said, sounding far too calm for the subject matter.

"Like I said, I've never believed in fate, but I think I've loved you since the moment I saw you lugging your mattress across the garden by yourself."

Edith snorted a watery laugh at the memory. He had rescued her that day, helping her move in all her things without a thought. That first day that seemed at once just last week and a lifetime ago.

Nine months. Surely people had built more in less time than that?

"I'm sorry, I know it's mad. I'm not, I'm not an irrational or emotional person by any means. It just seemed the, the thing to do," he said. "You needn't spare my feelings, I don't know what came over me."

"Yes."

Edith felt his breath hitch as he peered down at her. After a long moment he flinched. "What?"

"Yes. If the offer still stands."

"You're sure?"

"Completely."

Anthony leant up on one elbow, unceremoniously dropping Edith's head to the mattress so he might lean over her. "You know I've never done anything like this in my entire life? That I haven't been with anyone since Maude? I'm old and dull and I'll require lots of patience."

"Anthony," Edith began, but he was on a roll.

"I'll, I'll be a lamb, Edith. I'll do anything you want, _live_ anywhere you want. I'll go back to surgery, I'll, I'll," he shook his head and laughed. "Edith, for your hand I'd don a dress and starting answering to the name of Shirley if you asked."

Edith laughed, reaching up to kiss him sweetly. "Anthony, I wouldn't ask you to change. I know it's mad, and probably a terrible idea, but yes, I will marry you. Tomorrow if we can manage it, or the next day. Whatever. I don't care when it starts, but I intend to live quite happily with you for the rest of forever."

"I'm a terrible slob," he warned.

"I'm not neurotic."

"I tend to hog the covers."

"So do I, we'll learn to share."

"I talk to myself when I'm reading."

"I tune out the world to a fault when I'm reading. We're the perfect pair."

Anthony laughed and dipped his head for another kiss. "I'll be terribly out of practice at living with someone else."

"I've been alone my whole life. We'll adjust."

"You'll never be alone again, Edith. Not if I can help it. I can't guarantee much in life, but I promise, _I promise_, I will do everything in my power to keep you happy for a very, very long time. I'll give you anything you want."

"I only want you," Edith shrugged. "And have done for a lot longer than I realized, I think."

"I love you," Anthony said gravely. "I love you so much. Is that crazy?"

"I love you too, and if we're crazy then so be it."

And then they were kissing again, but this time as two people who were never going to be separated again.

Edith managed to postpone her trip to Ripon by a couple days, claiming illness when her mother asked why she couldn't make it for the full two weeks. She and Anthony married as soon as they could get a license and an appointment. It took four days, and Anthony spent just about every minute of those four days making sure Edith was absolutely certain. Of course, the time only confirmed what they already knew—that they were meant for one another.

"Are you nervous?" Edith asked as Anthony pulled their car in front of the formidable Downton Abbey. She reached for his hand, where his new white gold band caught the Christmas lights from the shrubbery lining the drive.

"No, darling, of course not," he tried. When she arched a brow he laughed. "Terrified beyond reason."

"I'm not," she said calmly. And it was true. For the first time in her entire adult life, Edith was no longer dreading the return to her overbearing parents and her outspoken sisters. "I don't think I've ever felt more sure in my life."

Anthony smiled meaningfully. "I'm glad. I'm afraid I'll panic and embarrass you."

"I wouldn't be embarrassed of you," Edith promised. "Now let's go in. I want to show off my handsome new husband to my unsuspecting family."

And show him off she did. Aside from an awkward few minutes introducing Anthony and explaining their fly-by wedding, the rest of the holiday went according to plan. Oh the Crawleys had plenty of questions, of course, but Edith's nieces and nephews were there to distract everyone much of the time. Anthony held up well, polite and shy and wonderful as ever. More than once Edith caught Mary rolling her eyes or Sybil giving an approving wink, but it was nice.

And Christmas night, after the children had utterly demolished the gifts under the tree, and the traditional games were played, Edith took Anthony to bed in her childhood room. They made love more silently than Edith ever thought possible, and afterward drifted off to the sound of each other breathing.

The next morning, Anthony gave into the children's pleas for a snowball fight. He, brave and daring soul, took on the two Crawley and three Branson children all by himself.

Which is how Edith found Anthony lying on his back in the snow, breathing heavily and staring up at the sky.

"Hallo," she said softly, standing near his head.

"Auntie, we won! We've killed your new husband!" shouted dear George, Mary's eldest who was destined for the forces. He was quite proud, smiling at them both before running after the other four well in the distance.

"He may not be exaggerating," Anthony laughed, looking up at his wife.

"I hope you're wrong. You promised a great many years, Mr. Strallan. You won't be let off so easily," Edith warned as she lowered herself, lying in the snow beside him.

Anthony looked over at Edith, cheeks red from cold and the same smile on his face that had pretty much taken up residence since their first night together.

"This seems familiar," Anthony teased, reaching down to take Edith's hand in his.

She giggled, looking down at the little sparkling band on her ring finger.

"Life is funny," she said with a shrug and a laugh, and Anthony seemed fine with that explanation, leaning down to kiss his wife in the snow.

* * *

A/N: My one-shot contribution to the holidays. Afraid I'm a bit of a Scrooge myself, but if I had an Anthony I might be less cranky. :) Happy Holidays everyone! And love live Andith!


End file.
